"You have saved Idoshia more times than I can count."
Ka-Ron moved closer to her squire and grabbed her breasts. "That may be, but this is all the world will see!"
Grabbing his master's shoulders, Jatel gazed deeply into her eyes.
In them, now, there was no shame.
"All I see is the man."
Ka-Ron let out an awkward laugh. "Well, Jatel, there are some bath houses I wouldn't say that in - openly, at least."
There was an awkward, long, pause.
Neither moved.
Ka-Ron's lips began to quiver, and then exploded with laugher. Jatel responded in kind, and both soon learned that it did no good to think of honor, family, or position. They were soon to become parents.
A child cared not for such things.
All that mattered was the moment.
"I am a fool," Jatel agreed, surrendering himself to both his love and to fate.
"Yes," Ka-Ron agreed. "But you are my fool."
"It is of foolishness that I come to tell you about, sire." The squire turned, picking up his swords and battle knives.
"Where are you going?"
"The elf and dwarf wish to investigate the nearby town," Jatel explained. "I have agreed to go with them. They talk of strange events and creatures. To tell the truth, I'm bored&"
"Bored?"
"Phase upon phase, locked inside the belly of a sea dragon, it causes a man to become crazy with the thirst of adventure."
"And I'm not entertaining enough for you?" Ka-Ron put her hands upon her hips.
"Sire, I will be back before you miss me. This I promise."
Ka-Ron's face was masked with concern. Inside her, the baby kicked, bringing her attentions back to what was important.
"Maybe you should put on a gown, or something." Jatel added.
Both kissed.
"Sire?"
"Yes?"
"What do we do when Kai turns you back into a man?"
Ka-Ron smiled. "We play out that battle when it is handed to us."
Jatel shook his head in acceptance.
***
The walk to Cibola was longer than it had looked from the deck of the Argo. Of course the elf felt no fatigue. Elves usually did well on long missions. Dwarfs were just as enduring. Jatel, on the other hand, had the wear and tear of an experienced man - he hated to walk. He did it only because he had to.
Upon leaving the Argo, both Rohan and Dorian were disappointed that the wizard would not be joining them. The unknown was always less formidable when faced with the magical arts. Keeth claimed that if they were ever to leave this valley safely, the ship had to be repaired. So, it was with a heavy heart that the wizard returned to his work, hoping to have all repaired upon the scouting party's return.
Jatel agreed with his counterparts. They could have used the wizard's skills.
The fog was thick, and impossible to see through. Jatel could not see a blocking tree until the smell of its moss was close enough for his nose to feel. Both Dorian and Rohan, however, seemed to walk through the mist as if it were nothing but a cool breeze.
The squire did all that he could to keep from bumping into things.
"Why won't this fog disperse?"
"The vampire needs its rest," Rohan explained. "The suns' light is its enemy."
"It is held down by his will, then?"
Rohan arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps."
"You do not know then, do you, elf?" Dorian challenged.
Rohan did not accept the challenge. He walked forward and said nothing.
It was only natural that Rohan would take the lead. He was the tallest and the one most familiar with the surrounding woodlands. He held within his person the "feelings" of his environment. Like most elves, he could sense a trap long before the others could smell one.
"The fog knows that we are here," Rohan whispered. The elf's hand rested upon one of his knives.
Jatel glanced at Dorian, soon realizing that the dwarf kept his gaze upon the elf as if Rohan was the arrow in his personal compass. Dorian mirrored every single twitch and cause resembling that of the elf. If something were to attack, the squire knew that they would be prepared. For that, Jatel relaxed.
It was his biggest mistake.
Cibola had at its center a huge marble fountain. Six horses raised in battle accented the circumference of its basin, causing what could be nothing less than a fantastic display of spraying water. Gold, silver, and brass outlined the fountain's borders. Truly, it was a wonder.
Upon noticing the village's fountain, Rohan put his hand up in a warning gesture. There was something afoot, and he was not sure of what it could be. The village was as silent as a tomb, with only the shriek of the wind adding any spice to their ears.
"What is it?" Jatel asked, leaning forward, whispering into the elf's ear.
Rohan turned, giving the squire a blank stare. He knew not what it could be, but, he was sure that it was there. And, above all, both the squire and the dwarf knew, that whatever it was, it had frightened the elf.
"Rohan!" Dorian's voice echoed with urgency. "Your bow."
The elf paid attention to his sidearm.
The bow was glowing.
"There is evil here," Rohan whispered. "Be ever at the ready, my friends."
All drew their weapons. This was no longer just a fact-finding mission.
When in battle, Jatel knew that one could not rely on his sight. So, as a matter of survival, he learned to "see" with his ears. Eyes were great, but they all too often were blinded by blood, dirt, or severed flesh. He and his master were trained to use their other senses as a means to go where pupil and iris could not.
The squire held tightly to the handle of his sword.
"Rohan. Dorian. We are not alone."
There arose a sound that none in the group expected to encounter.
It was the sound of a woman, and she was crying.
Dorian was the first to spot her.
"Near the fountain!" the dwarf shouted, his speed was fantastic for being so small and bulky.
At the base of the fountain, barely visible through the fog, there was a small wisp of white. As the three moved in closer, they discovered that the crying sound was coming from this figure.
"It's a woman!" the dwarf stated.
"What the hell is she doing outside?" Rohan asked, reaching for his water sack. The elf poured out some water, allowing a rawhide rag to soak up an ample supply. With great caution, he started patting the unfortunate woman's forehead.
"Who is she?"
"She does not wear the clothes of this region."
The elf's last comment worried Jatel. For if the elf did not know who she could be, where did that leave him?
Still, there was something about the woman that made Jatel move closer.
At first glance, the crying woman appeared to resemble a corpse. Her hair was a bone white. Her skin was as dry and brittle as tissue. All three were afraid to hold onto her with any kind of applied pressure - she appeared to be that fragile.
Appeared&
The woman opened her eyes.
Jatel's world&his universe&came to a halt.
The woman's eyes were the darkest red. So dark and dank that they alone stank of both death and bile. With invisible hands, they held the squire, not even allowing him the luxury of a simple scream. The frail woman parted her lips, revealing a pair of polished fangs. Her tongue was as black as sackcloth, and her breath was of the grave.
"Come to me." she whispered.
Jatel had heard stories of such creatures. In his native land, there was the story of the Mamuud: a creature so in love with all things dead, that if a man even breathed in her direction, they would die. With all of his fiber, the squire tried to tear his gaze from the undead thing calling him, but he could not. The effect he experienced was like that of tasting a rare but wonderful wine. The feeling was so original, that his experience as a warrior offered no defense.
Both Rohan and Dorian pleaded,
keeping their distance, but Jatel continued his trek toward the beckoning corpse.
"So, cold," the woman whispered. "So&cold."
Jatel lowered to almost half an arm's reach.
The wisp of white was the thin dress the unfortunate woman was wearing. It appeared to be the only source of clothing, for all three in the scouting party could see through the cloth effortlessly. The woman, apparently seemed beyond the means of caring.
"Come to me," the woman whispered again to Jatel.
Jatel compared what he was seeing to that of a Mud Cobra stalking a gull. It was commonly known that if a bird looked into the eyes of an attacking snake, it would be so frozen with fear that the unfortunate victim would appear to be as stiff as a statue. That is how the squire felt, for, try as he might, his mind remained helpless.
As the woman placed her hands upon his neck, the squire shivered from the cold. He had known death, and he was sure that this woman was as close to death as any corpse could be.
"Kiss me," the woman whispered.
Whether it was a fear of death, or sport from the chase of the hunt, Jatel regained his ability to fight.
Too late&
"Madame, I&"
Before Jatel could finish his sentence, the strange woman attacked his throat. Great waves of pain sparked through Jatel, as two long fangs buried themselves deeply in his flesh. With all his might, the young man tried to pull himself away, but with every second, he became weaker while his attacker became stronger. Blood sprayed from his open wound, only to be slurped up by his attacker.
As the warm blood entered the woman's system, a strange reaction took place. Her hair became a bright red. Her skin took on the texture of a young, robust woman. Her frailty ebbed away, being replaced with a youthful and firm appearance. Her beauty began to shame even that of Ka-Ron.
"I am whole again!" the woman cried, breaking away from Jatel's neck. Her rapid breathing was that of a willful lover pulling herself away from a satisfied encounter. Absently, and quite slowly, the woman licked her lips clean and wiped the blood off her face.
Jatel, weak and pale, collapsed on the cobblestone.
"See to the female," Rohan ordered the dwarf.
The elf, realizing that time was important, picked Jatel up and started running back towards the Argo. Dorian picked up the woman, threw her over his shoulder, and did his best to keep up with the elf. He cursed the idea of investigating the village. Every other step seemed to cause the woman harm, as her head bumped several rocks on the road.
"Still think this is all make-believe, dwarf?" Rohan asked, never looking behind him.
Dorian said nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The unfortunate woman's name was Molly. She was a wineswoman, who was known, so she claimed, for being able to create the sweetest-tasting vintages in these parts. She tried her best to hold her head up high - tried to show her pride. But that was hard to do, when upon boarding the Argo, Ka-Ron took one look at Jatel. The knight screamed and cursed, and it took the combined force of both Rohan and Dorian to keep her from cutting off Molly's head.
"You damned bitch!" Ka-Ron yelled, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her battle with the elf and dwarf caused her to rip the last of her decent clothes. The knight didn't care. All she saw was Jatel, lying on a wooden table, with blood all over his face, looking so close to death's door. "What have you done to my man!"
Molly could not look anyone in the eye.
The woman cried as she removed the last evidence of her crime against the squire by wiping thick blood off her chin. Every fiber of her being wanted to lick the blood off her fingers, and why not! It was what she needed in order to survive. It was her right to survive. No one would do it for her. Still, there was an inherent sorrow for her victims.
Molly hadn't been this way all of her life.
She had once been human.
"I&am&sorry." Molly whispered.
"Fuck you and your sorry!" Ka-Ron raged.
Keeth waved his hands over Jatel's neck, trying his best to maintain the look of panic he projected.
"How is he, wizard?" Rohan asked, pushing Ka-Ron into a corner.
"Just keep her quiet!" the wizard yelled. "I need time. He has lost way too much blood. I feel there is an infection here that even my magic has no hold over."
Molly hid her face, both hurt and ashamed.
Ka-Ron dropped to her knees. Her body shook with a violent tremor&so violent that she began to get sick upon the deck of the ship.
"Dorian! Water!" the elf ordered.
Breaking free of Ka-Ron's attack, the dwarf ran to the other end of the ship and returned within the blink of an eye with a pitcher full of water. His hands shaking, Dorian offered a cup to Ka-Ron. At first, the knight refused.
"Only if Jatel drinks from it first," Ka-Ron cried.
"Madame, he cannot," Rohan softly implied. "He has his own battle to fight. You, on the other hand, have to look out for that soldier in you, who cannot fight back. You have a child you must attend to."
Logic was an impossible force to ignore.
Ka-Ron drank the water.
Keeth continued with his magic, hoping above all that he was doing the right thing. The squire's condition was unlike any the man had ever seen before. By all accounts, Jatel appeared dead. He had no pulse. There was no aura. There was nothing there but the bulk of his body. The only thing that kept the wizard at his job was the fact that Jatel was glaring up at him, blinking his eyes. Corpses do not blink! So, logically, there was a life force within the boy trying quite hard to make the wizard aware of its presence.
"Hold on, son!" the wizard prayed. "Keep within my reach, and I promise that you will see the morning suns."
Ka-Ron's fight weakened. Her eyes closed. She passed out.
"Knockout drops?" Rohan questioned.
"Knockout drops." Dorian confirmed.
The elf gave his companion a questioning look.
"They are safe for the child, I assure you."
Rohan's features relaxed.
Keeth approached the sleeping knight and checked on her vital signs. He exhaled deeply. The wizard was exhausted.
"How does the squire fare?" Rohan asked, gently picking Ka-Ron up from off the ship's main deck.
"Touch and go, my friend." Keeth poured himself a cup of wine. "I have done all that I can for now. Only time and the boy's own will to live can help him now."
All eyes turned to Molly.
It was time for her to tell her story.
***
Molly had lived with her father. She stated that he had become quite muddle-headed after the passing of her mother several seasons ago, and had needed assistance in running the family business. Both she and her father were known for the inn they hosted. Molly was also known for her wine. So, it was not surprising to see all walks of life enter. Molly weakly giggled in the telling of her father. He was a kind man. Not too handsome, but kind of heart. He relied on her to turn the inn's profit, and if left alone to account for his own actions, the business would have gone under ages ago.
For Molly's father was also known for his charity.
It was during one of these charitable times when SHE walked through the door.
Molly never knew her name. She only knew, from the minute she laid eyes on the dark-haired woman, SHE was nothing but a wraith of destruction.
The mysterious woman, for lack of a better name, Molly called "Raven-haired."
"Raven-haired" was the first step to her village's misery.
The unfortunate woman, Molly had explained, touched her father's hearts right off and was offered a job as a barmaid.
Time would later prove the importance of her father's mistake.
"Raven-haired" was a disciple of Count Voslow.
"Count Voslow?" Keeth inquired, "Never heard of him."
"Pray that you never meet him, sir." Molly whispered. "Evil has nothing on him. He is rotten to the core. Everything he touches dies, only to live by his comm
and."
"Sounds like a charming fellow," Dorian huffed, joining the wizard in his wine drinking.
Molly returned to her story, realizing she had all their attention.
As explained, "Raven-haired" was a pawn employed by Count Voslow, who had become a hermit nearby in an ancient castle long-abandoned. Not much was known of him - only that he had lived an incredibly long time, and, perhaps was an immortal. There were even rumors that he had once been a general in the imperial army of the Nowns.
Cibola was ripe. Full of blood. And his for the taking.
It took some time, but soon the bodies were being discovered. It did not matter what sex, age, or station the victim was. The killer was completely democratic. Upon discovery, it was learned that each victim's blood had been completely drained from his body.
Molly's father was soon drafted to seek out and discover who the killer was.
"Was there not a constable or an errant-knight of the village?" Rohan had asked, handing all in the group a cup of red tea. The wine was used up.
"We were a poor village, mister elf." Molly paused, her eyes projecting both pain and pity. "An inn keeper and pastry chef were all we could afford."
Molly sipped her tea.
She explained that her father, although not a man to investigate crime, was a fast learner. He had managed to gain certain confessions from several victims before their deaths, about Count Voslow. It was curious that he had been seen nearby, or that his hunting parties were in the woods, when many an unfortunate was discovered bloodless and dying.
It was also strange that the Count, in all the seasons he had stayed near the village, had never once visited a pub or restaurant for a meal. Indeed, no one in memory could recall the Count eating at all. He was never seen in the daylight, he was never seen at church, and he avoided others like a plague.
"What became of your father?" Keeth asked. The wizard rubbed his chin, giving his guest an uneasy look. He knew the woman's answer before she spoke it.
"I don't know. And I thank the gods for the ignorance."
The Misadventures of Ka-Ron the Knight Page 21
